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I was there just to apologize for the Italian people, for the citizens of Florence and for myself, for not doing enough.

Thousands of people were around me — anger, pride and distress in their eyes. Some of them were marching silently, some were screaming and furious, some others were just looking around: they were really so many…

I had never seen before so much black skin all together. I didn't think the African community was so large, here. And I was the different one. Well, I was used to being minority in almost everything: in my political creed, in my lifestyle, in my work... even in what I ate. But that was the first time I felt different because of the color of my skin.

I just wanted to hide my face in my jacket, and hug everyone at the same time, one by one, to reassure them, to beg them to stay in this city, in this land. In spite of it all.

Two men were shot to death, here, last Tuesday: Samb Modou (40) and Diop Mor (54). A third one, Moustapha Dieng (37) is now in on the danger list and will probably be left paralysed. Three men, workers, Senegalese, immigrant, black.

The killer was not mad, he was not even an ordinary man in the dumps. He was a fascist, a member of a fascist organization. The police knew his name, and also knows very well the neofascist organization he belonged to.
But they didn't do anything to prevent the massacre.
Like me.